


Clover

by Sorsa



Series: Clover verse [2]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-21
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-07-16 08:45:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,305
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7260637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sorsa/pseuds/Sorsa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It started with a cow called Clover.</p><p>Altaïr the just graduated vet gets humiliated over and over again by a grumpy but hot farmer, and he has no choice but to go back. Yet, one time he stays.</p><p>And in the end he doesn't even want to leave Malik's side.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Clover

**Author's Note:**

> I took a small break from Hunting Birds and ended up with this. I really needed a fix of something cheesy and cracky so this was the result.
> 
> Beta-Read by dear DarthTofu who had to endure my mental breakdown over this xD All the remaining mistakes are mine(mine!).
> 
> This is based on actual experiences and first hand accounts of things happening. Yes, I'm from the countryside and yes I'm more knowledgeable in farming than anyone ever needs to be xD

Altaïr gripped the leather steering wheel of his new BMW estate and cursed the bumpy dirt road curving in front of him. His car would be so dirty afterwards which meant he would have to take it to the wash, again. Why couldn’t the peasants take care of their roads and why did they have to live so far out in the middle of nowhere?

 

He should have been happy to have been employed so quickly after his graduation and as a municipal veterinarian at that. He had never thought it would mean he would end up scouring the countryside listening to the peasants go on endlessly about their stupid lives. The amount of ignorance he had to face in his job was stunning.

 

One of the wheels hit a particularly nasty pothole. His car was just fine for the job. He had even gotten an estate even if he had really wanted to get a saloon but his gear wouldn’t have fit in it. But it was the only compromise he had done because otherwise the car was just the kind of he needed. He had a tax reduction because of his profession so he was pretty much entitled to get a Beema.

 

His GPS indicated he should turn left and he only dreaded the kind of road it would lead to. His fears were proven right as the road he had to take wasn’t much better than a cart path. Grass grew in the middle of the road and his car fit into it only narrowly. He was going to kill someone if there was a hidden rock in the midst of the grass.

 

“Now arriving at your destination,” the robotic female voice of his GPS announced.

 

Altaïr looked in front of himself and saw the road leading to an old farmhouse and equally old and rather small byre. He had been called to take a look at a cow which had calved only recently and the farmer was adamant he should bring calcium with him.

 

He pulled in front of the byre and stepped out of his car. The horrible mud streaks and splashes on his car made him cringe. It was already hard to tell his car was supposed to be black from all the dirt on it.

 

As he moved to the back of his car to take his case out, he noted the at-least-ten-year-old Ford Transit parked on the grassy patch next to the building and the even older tractor missing a door next to it. The van might have once been white in colour but now it was more of yellowish brown.

 

Another redneck farm then, he decided.

 

The byre door opened and a man wearing green wellies and blue overalls stepped out – a typical peasant get up. But he had not expected the peasant to be one-armed, blatantly middle-eastern, and around his own age. He had expected to be met by another middle-aged pot-bellied white guy with an ascending hairline.

 

“Are you the new vet?” the man asked him and seemed to scan him from head to toe while doing so.

 

“Yes,” he answered.

 

“Then come here so we can get to it as fast as we can,” the man commanded him and waved towards another entrance to the byre.

 

Altaïr resigned to following the man into the byre. As he stepped inside the building he immediately noticed how ancient it was. The place didn’t have an automated manure removal system and the cows were up to their knees in straw instead of having rubber mats underneath their hooves. He could not hear the humming of ventilation machinery which meant the air was recycled naturally. At least the animals had automated waterers.

 

“Here is Clover. She just calved two days ago and today I found her like this. It’s quite obvious she has milk fever so if you just give her calcium I’m sure she’ll be up in no time,” the man told him as if he knew what he was talking about.

 

All the peasants thought they knew so much better than him and called him just because they thought him to be a handy rolling pharmacist. It wouldn’t be the first time some peasant didn’t know what they were talking about clinging to their superstitions instead of modern medicine.

 

“How about I make the diagnosis here?” he replied. The man looked as if he had swallowed an entire lemon.

 

“It is obvious she has milk fever. She can’t get up, she just calved her sixth calf, she’s cold and look at the way she holds her head. She has milk fever. There’s no point in tormenting her,” the man said while gesturing with his only arm.

 

Altaïr ignored the man in favour of taking the temperature and trying the cow’s reflexes. Then he listened to the heart rate which was significantly faster than it should have been.

 

“Postparturient hypocalcemia,” he concluded which meant the same as milk fever but he was not going to give the peasant the pleasure of being right.

 

“That’s just a fancy way of saying milk fever,” the man said judgementally.

 

“I’ll administer some calcium,” he commented because he was kind of loss for words as it was the first time any peasant had caught him red-handed using big words for things.

 

He could practically feel the man’s eyes on his back as he opened up his case. He pulled out a calcium drip, handed the plastic bag to the man, and began attaching the needle. He had to stab the cow several times with the needle as he had hard time finding the vein in the cow’s neck.

 

“Try here,” the man instructed and pointed with his finger to a point in the lower part of the cow’s neck.

 

Altaïr reluctantly tried the suggested place but was convinced it wouldn’t work as it wasn’t the place he had been taught to inject. Blood did come out of the needle though which was annoying.

 

“I would have tried it next,” he defended himself as he attached the drip to the needle. The farmer looked smug.

 

“Sure you would have,” the man replied sarcastically. How dare he undermine an actual vet’s skills!

 

It took twenty or so minutes to drain the drip completely. They passed the entire time in uncomfortable silence, the only sound being the cows ruminating their feed and occasionally mooing lazily.

 

He pulled the needle out and put it away into a container dedicated to dirty needles. Then he listened to the cow’s heart rate once more. It was back to normal along with the body temperature which he determined by simply touching the cow’s ears which were now warm.

 

“She should get up at the latest in a couple of hours but in case she doesn’t call me again,” but he so wished the man would never call him ever again.

 

He took up his case and walked out of the byre. On his way out he managed to step into the manure drain filling his shoe with cow shit. He cursed loudly at his misfortune.

 

“Have you considered that a hoodie and trainers aren’t terribly practical clothes for visiting a farm?” the man asked but really meant to tell him how stupid he was.

 

He had left his car boot open and a fat black and white cat was lounging on his car’s bonnet. He frowned as he noticed all the paw prints going all over his car. He threw his case in the back of his car and in return took out a billing booklet.

 

He attempted to shoo the cat away with the billing booklet but the cat just looked at him uninterested. The peasant appeared out of the byre soon after him which somehow brought life to the cat who got up and ran to the man’s feet. The cat rubbed itself with enthusiasm against the man’s feet as if the cat had not just been ruining his car a minute ago.

 

“Do you have soap?” he asked because he wanted to clean his hands before sitting back into his car. He would have to disinfect himself from head to toe after this before going to any other byre but no amount of Virgon-S would get rid off the stench that wafted from his left foot.

 

“I do. Also water and towel,” the man answered.

 

He followed after the man to the door the man had emerged from the first time. It was an old fashioned milk room with a tank for the milk that took up most of the space. There was a sink though and a bar of some suspicious green soap. He put the billing booklet aside and turned the tap on.

 

The water was ice cold. He barely managed to contain his curses. The building probably didn’t have boiler as everything else was antique as well. The soap was a complete failure too because it hardly made any bubbles at all but somehow he managed to clean his hands to look more adequate. At least the towel was just a towel without any surprises, except it was bright pink and very out of place in the dinky room.

 

He took the billing booklet back into his hands and pulled out a pen from his pocket.

 

“So who do I address the bill to?” he asked.

 

“Malik Al-Sayf. Do you want me to spell it for you?” the man replied in a way that suggested he was used to people not knowing how to spell his name correctly.

 

“No. Do you want me to spell it in Arabic or is it fine to spell it just normally, Malik?” he retorted with a bite. The peasant looked taken aback clearly not being used to anyone answering him like that.

 

Altaïr finished writing the bill and handed it over to the peasant. The man eyed the bill with narrow eyes.

 

“You charged more than the previous vet, _Altaïr Ibn-La’Ahad_ ,” the man spoke and pronounced his name with an accuracy Altaïr didn’t remember hearing in ages.

 

“I’m better than the geezer who used to be the municipal vet – hence I charge more,” he said as he knew he didn’t have any obligation nor even wish to be polite to the man.

 

“That remains to be seen,” the peasant commented bitterly. Altaïr didn’t care.

 

He marched out of the milk room and made a beeline to his car. This time there were no extra animals on top of his car. He jumped inside his car and turned it around bumping it slightly into a birch growing at the side of the road in the process. He wanted to kill someone so hard at that very moment.

 

But the worst part was when he had settled down from his fury and noticed the weird smell in the car, besides the obvious smell of cow shit. It was cat pee. The cat that had pawed all around his car had also decided to pee in it. He would never go back to that place ever again, he decided then as he opened up the windows in the hopes of getting rid off the stink.

 

*****************************

 

But he ended up going back again within just two weeks. He still had the fresh memory of the humiliation he had felt the last time he had been there. He was already dreading the encounter as he drove to the farm.

 

His car still smelled of cat pee from the last time. He had taken the car to a professional inside wash but the stench refused to come out, or maybe he was just imagining it. His trainers had also been ruined for good so he had given in and bought a pair of wellies. He hated the blasted things because they looked ugly and felt like shit on his feet.

 

As he pulled to the yard he saw the same man he had seen the last time working on the piece of junk tractor. The tractor had some farming equipment attached to it which he didn’t know the name for. Maybe it was a plough or a harrow – what was even the difference between the two? Were the fields even ploughed during spring?

 

He stopped his car and stepped out. He walked to the back of his car so he could get his wellies and the case out.

 

“I wasn’t expecting you to be here quite yet,” Malik greeted him.

 

“The previous place ended up taking less time than I had expected,” he replied truthfully. How he had for once wished the client would have kept shoving non-appointed animals at him so he could just stall for time. But no, everything had gone quicker than normal, how typical.

 

“The ladies are still outside. I need to get them in. It won’t take long,” Malik said.

 

Why were the cows outside in the middle of April? There wasn’t even anything for them to eat. This was probably going to end up in a terrible chase through the fields after a cow who didn’t want to be caught. He had had his fair share of chasing after them in the modern byres where the cows were allowed to roam relatively freely and it had sucked. He couldn’t even imagine how impossible it would be to catch a cow from pasture.

 

Malik whistled and a small dog that looked like a miniature Lassie darted out of the shrubbery. The dog bounced around hyperactively.

 

“You are not about to tell me this _thing_ is going to shepherd the cows out of the pasture?” he commented. There was no way the cows were ever going to respect something so small.

 

“Come and watch if you don’t believe,” Malik challenged.

 

Altaïr sighed. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do so he could just as well look at the unfolding farce. So he trailed after Malik and the dog that must have been on speed from the way it kept running around them.

 

There were roughly twenty cows out in the field. The wooden fence and the trampled ground suggested the pasture was used all year round for the cows. Not a very common thing but not completely unheard either. Usually the organic dairy farms took their cows out all year long but this wasn’t an organic farm because he had had the permission to give the calcium injection the last time.

 

Malik gave the dog some command which spurred the dog into action. Somehow the dog did manage to corral the cows in front of the gate he was standing with Malik.

 

“He’s pretty much my left arm. It would be near impossible to move them from one place to another all by myself,” Malik said while opening the gate to let the cows pass through. The dog ran after the cows and corrected any wayward animal back into the tight row they were walking in.

 

“How did you lose your arm anyway? If you don’t mind me asking,” he queried as he just tried to conceal how impressed he actually was.

 

“I don’t mind. I was sixteen at the time and I was readying the combine for the season. Somehow it got into gear and my arm got stuck into the middle of the revolving cutter bar and the combine drove over me,” Malik explained with a wave of his hand as if it was nothing.

 

“How are you even alive?” he found himself asking. It wasn’t all that uncommon for the farmers to get killed by their own equipment. In the neighbouring village a man had gotten himself killed by sticking a iron bar into a fast moving rake. The iron bar had bounced right back and through the man’s forehead.

 

“The combine drove through the barn wall which alerted my father. He called the ambulance which luckily made it before I bled out,” Malik replied and patted the last one of the cows entering the byre on the back.

 

“So where’s the cow with the mastitis?” he asked after all the cows had diligently taken their places in the building. The mini-Lassie was now chasing after some mice because apparently it could not just stop even for one second.

 

“Here she is. It’s Clover again,” Malik pointed at one of the cows and sure enough it was the same one he had treated the last time. Despite the cow’s name the poor animal didn’t seem to have much luck.

 

“I’ll take samples of the milk and grow the bacteria back at my office, so I can determine the right medicine,” he explained as he took out the test pan to determine which quarters were infected.

 

“It’s the left hind quarter. I would wager it’s Streptococcus from the colour and the smell of the milk,” Malik said confidently.

 

“I need to do this to make sure the results are correct,” he retorted. He hated to be advised by the peasants how to do his job.

 

He grabbed one of the udders and squeezed as hard as he could but managed only to get a small drop of milk to come out. He applied even more force. The cow swatted him with its tail.

 

“You can’t just force the milk out of the udder. Let me show you how it’s done,” Malik said after Altaïr had struggled with the cow for a while.

 

“I know how to do this,” he defended himself. He didn’t want to admit he couldn’t do something simple as that. Malik quirked his eyebrows at him.

 

“Of course you do,” Malik responded with sarcasm and showed the right technique with ease.

 

The left hind quarter was infected as the milk that came out was yellowish brown. It made a stark contrast against the otherwise pure white milk that came out of the other quarters. He managed to fumble a sample of from the infected udder into a test tube which he then sealed and wrote label on it to differentiate it from the rest of the milk samples he had.

 

“Could you leave some penicillin so I can start treating her?” Malik asked.

 

“No. I can give leave some pain medicine for her but I can’t administer antibiotics on your hunch,” he replied.

 

Malik’s frown deepened.

 

“The previous vet did leave me penicillin if I asked. It’s not like I’m going to milk her into the tank when she’s medicated,” Malik retorted. The man was clearly agitated.

 

“I don’t care what the previous vet did. My ways are better,” he responded with an angry snarl. He was better than some retired old geezer who had fifty decades since graduation.

 

“Fine. But leave the pain medicine at least. No need to make her suffer needlessly,” Malik growled right back at him.

 

He did leave the pain medicine and drove away feeling humiliated and pissed off.

 

**************************************

 

The mastitis turned out to be Streptococcus Uberis which penicillin worked against very well. When he called Malik to inform he could go to the pharmacy and pick up the needed medicine the man replied to him saying, “I told you so.”

 

And Altaïr wanted to just slam the phone into tiny pieces.

 

****************************************

 

When the inevitable day came when he had to return to check on some Malik’s animal he felt like somebody was pulling his nails. He just didn’t want to go there and be humiliated once more while the man scowled at him and told him how to do his job. At least all the other peasants kept their mouths shut and had respect for a vet even if they were ignorant idiots.

 

He drove to the now familiar farmyard where the mini-Lassie on speed rushed to greet him. He noticed a newer car in the yard he had not seen before. It probably belonged to Malik’s wife. It wasn’t uncommon for one of the farmers to work outside of the farm especially if they weren’t originally from countryside or the farm was a small one.

 

Malik appeared soon with a relatively attractive woman in tow. He gave the woman some instructions Altaïr didn’t give a damn about and the woman hopped into the piece of shit tractor.

 

“That your wife?” he attempted at conversation.

 

Malik looked at him with surprise written on his face. The mini-Lassie wrestled with a fat black and white cat which was probably the same one that had peed in his car.

 

“No. I’m gay. She’s just government paid farm relief worker. I’m eligible for extra aid because of my disability,” Malik stated calmly.

 

Altaïr felt the temperature drop below zero. Suddenly the whole thing was really awkward.

 

“I see,” he replied and then he kind of did see. How did Malik manage to run the whole place himself and with only one arm at that? How do you even push shit through the manure drain with only one arm? Or drive a tractor?

 

He walked behind Malik to the byre and as he stared at the man’s shoulders he suddenly gained a newly found respect towards him.

 

*****************************

 

They of course kept bumping into each other whenever Malik needed a vet for his animals. He still felt the stings of their first few encounters. The difference was however that what had felt like Malik constantly being irritated at his every action was probably actually exhaustion from the workload the man was under.

 

Altaïr never saw anyone besides the occasional farm relief worker at the farm. Nothing ever changed. All the equipment were the same ancient crap ones he had seen the first time he had visited the place.

 

The animals however were always well taken care of. The cows were clean and their feet were in good condition. He never had to treat any abscesses on the animals unlike on most other farms he visited where the cows, despite being loosely housed were practically swimming in their own excrement and had the most horrifying infections of various kinds he had ever encountered.

 

One day he was not called to treat a cow but neuter a cat and vaccinate the mini-Lassie on speed that was apparently not Lassie but a Shetland Sheepdog called Stalin. Why anyone would name their dog after a Soviet dictator he did not know but there it was fluffy stupid looking shepherd dog named Stalin.

 

Malik invited him into the house. He was kind of fearing what kind of place it would be as he had seen all kinds of houses as of late. Some places looked like a tornado ripped through it and others like a hospital even smelling of Virgon-S. The peasants liked to invite the visiting vet for a cup of coffee after the animals were treated and they kept insisting until he would give in. So he had developed a caffeine addiction against his will.

 

The house was an ordinary house though and it didn’t look like it was inhabited by a gay man in his twenties. It looked more like the house of a middle-aged couple with flowery curtains, aerial photographs of the farm lining the walls, and porcelain put on display. The only thing that was out of place in the house was the scratching post and the vast amounts of paperbacks littered everywhere.

 

Malik threw his overalls casually over one of the kitchen chairs. Altaïr had never seen the man wearing anything else but the shit-stained overalls. He was pleasantly surprised. Malik was well defined from all the years spent on manual labour and had a very appealing figure. Altaïr himself worked out in the gym and had a nice six-pack to show for it but damn if he wasn’t looking at some nice piece of ass right there.

 

“I’ll go fetch the patient. I’ve been keeping him inside with my house cat so he would be easy to find,” Malik said and disappeared into the living room. That explained why there was a scratching post in the house but why did a farmer keep a special house cat?

 

He set his case on the kitchen table and started preparing the needed equipment for the job. It was a routine thing easily done but he still hoped Malik wouldn’t start preparing fish while he cut the balls off from the cat. The very thing had happened not a long time ago to him. He had been neutering a cat on the kitchen counter and the farmer’s wife slammed a gigantic salmon next to him and started cutting the fish open as if it was a normal thing to do.

 

Malik appeared back in the kitchen while carrying a striped orange cat. The cat looked like it wanted to be anywhere but here and Altaïr couldn’t blame the animal – he was about to cut the cat’s balls off. If he were in the cat’s stead he would rather be somewhere else as well.

 

He put the cat into light narcosis and got to work. He sterilised his own hands and the area where he was going to operate after he shaved the fur from there. He didn’t need to make many cuts to have the job done. Then he stitched the wound back together.

 

“Done,” he said and moved away from the cat to wash his hands in the kitchen sink.

 

“You are really good at this,” Malik commented as he collected the cat to move it somewhere else.

 

“I wanted to become a pet surgeon so I’ve practised a lot,” he replied truthfully.

 

“Why didn’t you become a pet surgeon then?” Malik questioned.

 

“Why are you working a farm by yourself?” he deflected the question back as he didn’t want to discuss his unfortunate escapades in veterinary school.

 

“Point taken,” Malik answered.

 

“How about I’ll just give the vaccine to Stalin then?” he responded and calling an animal Stalin still felt so wrong.

 

“Sure. I’ll make us some coffee and I have biscuits too though they are probably stale as I don’t get much visitors,” Malik said and moved to get something from the cupboards.

 

Altaïr pulled out the needed vaccine for the dog and injected it unceremoniously to the unsuspecting dog who was convinced he was getting treats. He did give the dog treat afterwards; even he was not so heartless he could resist the way the dog was looking at him with literal puppy eyes.

 

“Not even your relatives visit?” he then asked. Malik leaned against the kitchen counter and laid his eyes on the floor.

 

“My parents died two years ago and my brother lives in the city. He likes to pretend I don’t exist and I have no other relatives,” Malik explained and was obviously pretending like it didn’t matter to him even if it did.

 

“I’m sorry I asked,” he said and he was sorry.

 

“Don’t be. It’s nothing you can help with,” Malik said and shrugged his shoulders.

 

The coffee was ready and they sat down to the table. The biscuits really were stale but he didn’t complain as he felt like he didn’t have the right to do so. The coffee was good if obviously of some cheap brand.

 

“I’ve been meaning to ask this from you for a while but never got around to it. You don’t seem like the type to become a vet, so what made you become one?” Malik asked after they had sipped their coffee in silence for a while.

 

“It’s a family thing but in the end I’d still rather spend my time with animals than with people. Animals are uncomplicated, people are not,” he answered. At his answer Malik smiled and it was the first time Altaïr had seen the expression.

 

“I know what you mean,” Malik answered and somehow Altaïr didn’t doubt it.

 

“So did you always want to follow after your parents footsteps and become a farmer?” he bounced the question right back.

 

“Yes and no, it’s kind of complicated. I was studying for my masters degree in agrology but my parents died and I had to take over before I could complete it,” Malik answered.

 

It did explain the vast knowledge Malik had pertaining to cows and their diseases because most of the peasants he had met couldn’t tell one thing from the other even after decades of cattle husbandry. Somehow he felt slightly cheated.

 

“Your brother’s not interested farming?” he asked.

 

“No, he studies some hipster subject in university and lives off the money I had to pay him to buy him out of the farm. He thinks I’m an embarrassing red neck which would deduct from his pretentiousness points if anyone knew I existed,” Malik answered bitterly.

 

He wrote the bill but didn’t charge for the vaccination. Then he thanked Malik for the coffee and made it out of the door. Stalin ran out with him and rushed to his car. The dog with the dictator’s name took a piss on his car’s aluminium wheel but he was slightly too stunned to really care.

 

As he drove out he took a look into the rear mirror and saw Malik hopping into the most horrifying piece of junk tractor he had ever seen.

 

He didn’t quite know how he should react to the information he had just received. It wasn’t hard to deduct that Malik was probably only managing to barely scrape by and must have had a shit ton of loans from the bank. There was the inheritance taxes and the money he had paid for his brother. Somehow the man was managing it all alone.

 

Why he cared though was completely another thing he rather not think about too hard.

 

****************************

 

It was only inevitable he would get a call during his night shift from Malik. The night had otherwise been very calm and he had been content to just sleep through it and get the increased pay for it.

 

“A calf is in a really bad position and I can’t manage to correct it,” were the exact words spoken in agitation. No doubt he could not correct it with only one arm.

 

“I’ll be there in a minute,” he replied. He pulled some clothes on hurriedly and rushed out of his apartment.

 

After roughly half an hour he made it to the farm. He didn’t see Malik anywhere in the farmyard so he deducted the man must have been inside the byre. He took his case and rushed inside.

 

“Are you here?” he called from the door as he couldn’t see anything but the cows.

 

“I’m here!” came the reply from somewhere in the far corner of the byre. The calving pens must have been situated there.

 

He walked over quickly and sure enough Malik was there with a cow in a great deal of pain in the middle of calving. He pulled the gloves on and rubbed them in disinfectant. Then he got to work. The calf was sideways and of course it was because there was no way it could have been anything easy.

 

They wrestled with the cow and the calf for an hour in an attempt to correct its position. When they finally managed the task the cow was too tired to push the calf out herself so they had to pull it out on top of everything else.

 

In the end they both sat on the straw exhausted and covered in all kinds of fluids. The cow and the calf were just as tired but in good condition.

 

“Want to take a shower?” Malik offered him.

 

Altaïr took a look at the clock. It was nearly the end of his night shift.

 

“Sure,” he answered.

 

Somehow they both ended up in the shower together which then escalated into a round of shower sex. And afterwards for another in the bed which apparently was enough for them as they fell asleep immediately as soon as orgasms were had.

 

Altaïr was slightly startled by an alarm clock a few hours later but soon fell back asleep.

 

He woke up quite late into the day and found a note written in neat script saying, “You can help yourself to whatever you find in the kitchen.” So he did as commanded. There was no point in modesty after having sex with someone.

 

Though as he sat on the table with some bread and eggs he realised Malik must not have slept much at all during the night. His suspicions were confirmed as the man in question came back inside with the ridiculously named dog and saw the tired eyes the man had. A black cat appeared from somewhere to demand attention.

 

“Sorry I had to go and do the morning work in the byre and then fix a broken hose in the tractor’s hydraulics,” Malik said with a strained voice while petting the cat.

 

“It’s okay. It’s not the first time I woke up alone in bed,” he attempted to joke. Malik chuckled in response.

 

Malik sat down with coffee. Altaïr realised the man had his shirt on backwards.

 

They just kind of stared at each other awkwardly, both obviously trying to dance around the fact they had had sex last night. Altaïr had even been technically on duty. They had been covered in all kinds of very unsexy things while they had both decided it was a good idea to have a nice fuck.

 

There were words in the air that demanded to be spoken but neither of them actually opened their mouths to do anything else but eat breakfast.

 

“So we kinda had sex with each other last night,” he tried. Malik raised his brow at him.

 

“Usually it takes two to have sex,” Malik answered and shrugged.

 

Altaïr looked at the man with his mouth open. Either Malik had the most amazing poker-face ever or the man was just too exhausted to really understand the gravity of the situation. He decided it must have been exhaustion.

 

“That’s not what I mean,” he replied.

 

“Look, this doesn’t need to mean anything. It was just sex. It’s not like we are in love with each other or even dating,” Malik said.

 

“Do you want it to mean nothing?” he asked as he was kind of feeling it had been more than just sex. Not really love but curiosity towards Malik.

 

Altaïr studied Malik’s face carefully. The man looked torn between things.

 

“I don’t know,” Malik sighed and rubbed his face in an exaggerated manner.

 

A silence stretched between them once again. The clock on the wall was ticking way too loudly as if to just accentuate the uncomfortable feeling between them.

 

Altaïr finally broke the silence by returning to speak about things familiar to both of them.

 

“Have you ever thought of giving up the dairy cows?” he asked because for him they seemed like they were sending the man into early grave.

 

“I have. I should probably exchange them for Highland cattle but that requires a lot of investment. Investment that won’t come from selling twenty-two Ayshires and I can’t afford to lose the money they bring in as little as it is,” Malik explained while sipping his coffee.

 

Altaïr frowned. It was clear that the bad equipment and ancient byre were draining all the time Malik had. Yet Malik didn’t have the money to replace any of it. What an uncomfortable situation. Despite knowing how little time the other man had he found himself asking,

 

“Now that we have acquainted ourselves how about a date?”

 

“I haven’t really dated anyone in ages. I don’t even have anything nice to wear and I have to consult my calendar as to when the next time I have a farm relief worker here is. So if you can work around these and the fact that I might have to run back home when a cow is about to die or the worker doesn’t know what they are doing, then sure yeah,” Malik answered cynically.

 

Altaïr smiled like a fool.

 

“I think we can manage to figure out something. So let’s pull out our calendars then. I’m not letting you out of this,” he responded.

 

*******************************

 

When the day of the date came around he had been furiously scrubbing himself and his car to be in top notch condition. The smell of cow just didn’t seem to come off of him no matter what products he used. He wasn’t sure why he was even making it into a such a big deal. It wasn’t like they had not already been covered in shit together several times. His Beema still smelled of cat pee though.

 

He pulled to the now familiar farmyard and almost went to grab his case from the back because the habit had apparently become so ingrained to him. There was some red hatchback parked in the yard which must have belonged to the farm relief worker.

 

The milk room’s door opened and Malik along with Stalin and the worker emerged from it. The dog charged straight away to greet him with too much enthusiasm.

 

Malik may have said he didn’t have anything nice to wear but he apparently did possess a gay man’s fashion sense as the black jeans made his ass look delicious. He had also trimmed his goatee to perfection and obviously styled his hair slightly. He looked nothing like a farmer who was usually covered in mud and shit while wearing hideous overalls.

 

“Hey,” he greeted.

 

“Hi! Take him away already and tell him to stop worrying about the cows,” the worker said while shoving Malik at him.

 

Altaïr grabbed Malik before the man could start protesting. He all but tucked the man into the passenger side of the car.

 

“Is it me or does it smell like cat pee in here?” Malik asked as soon as they had buckled their seatbelts on.

 

“It was your cat who peed in here,” he answered.

 

“No way. None of my cats would do such a thing,” Malik defended.

 

“It was the fat black and white one,” he responded.

 

“That’s Mr Trotsky,” Malik said completely serious. Altaïr nearly choked on his own spit.

 

He had booked a table at a restaurant that wasn’t too fancy but still a slightly better than average. He couldn’t deal with a dress code because he loved his hoodies and beanies way too much which pretty much set the criteria for the restaurant.

 

He was kind of worried Malik wouldn’t have proper table manners but it turned out the man had better ones than he did. He found himself at the receiving end of all sorts of lectures about table etiquette much in the same way Malik lectured him on how to do his job with cows.

 

“So why didn’t you become a pet surgeon and instead ended up becoming a municipal veterinarian?” Malik asked him and ate a chunk of potato. Altaïr had been staring at the nearly black eyes of his date for the better part of the last ten minutes like a fool.

 

“I dated this utter and complete bitch in vet school. She wanted me to become a surgeon so it would be something to brag about to her rich parents. So when we broke up a year before graduation I amassed as many courses on farm animals as I could in a defiance to her. A stupid reason, but it’s the truth,” he explained.

 

His parents had been furious at the time because they had really hoped he would have married the girl and then worked at their family-owned clinic as a surgeon. It would have been good PR for them in so many ways.

 

“What about your parents? Are they around? Any siblings? I want to know about your family,” Malik queried before munching down on some vegetables.

 

“My parents are around and I have a brother. I’m not currently very close to them because they are still rather salty over my choices of not becoming a surgeon. My brother is studying to become a vet too so maybe they will get over it in time or when he graduates,” he answered and shrugged.

 

The rest of the dinner passed with more light-hearted chattering. But when the time to pay the bill came Malik almost let all Hell loose and they ended up arguing who would pay the bill or if they should split. Altaïr managed to win the argument with a rhetoric genius that amounted mainly to bullying Malik quiet with innuendoes.

 

They made it back to the farm somehow despite Altaïr wanting to jump Malik all the way back. They barely managed to make it inside the house with their clothes somewhat intact. It wasn’t like there was anyone to see them in the middle of a nowhere they were in.

 

The sex they had was glorious and after they were done Altaïr pulled Malik close to him for cuddling. He liked the way Malik fit nicely against him and even the smell of cow manure mixed with shampoo was somehow alluring to him. It was definitely something he could get used to.

 

He did wake up into an empty bed the next morning though as Malik had been awake for hours to take care of the farm work. There was only the black cat that was apparently called Mao attempting to come and sleep on his face.

 

********************************

 

More dates did then follow but also more vet visits which often also ended up with them having sex in various places. It turns out that while the idea of having sex on hay may sound very romantic the reality is prickly hay in places he would rather not think about.

 

Once their date was interrupted by a farm relief worker calling to them during a movie. A cow had started calving while they were gone and it wasn’t going too well. So they ended up pulling a calf out in their nice clothes on a date but it wasn’t like he wasn’t expecting it.

 

During the harvest season Malik got grumpier than usual. At first he didn’t quite realise what had gotten into the man before he understood that Malik probably slept even less than usual. It really got him into thinking about things.

 

At some point he realised he had not been at his own apartment for two weeks. He had most of his clothes at the farm and he had started helping Malik with the chores as much as he could. It did benefit them both because when Malik had more free time and was less exhausted, sex was more likely to happen as well.

 

He did then move in. Suddenly the house looked less like belonging to middle-aged couple and more of something a couple of men in their twenties were inhabiting. It was especially pleasing to get rid of the horrible looking floral curtains in favour of some nice plain grey ones.

 

He also got a couple of new bookshelves for Malik’s collection of paperbacks. It was kind of ridiculous that the man read philosophy in the toilet but displayed Harlequins in his living room. But then again the same man had a habit of naming his pets after dictators.

 

After they had been living together for nearly a year he sold his BMW and got a Ford Mondeo estate instead with an automatic gearbox. He dreaded every time Malik took the old Transit for a spin because his boyfriend had only one arm and the van had manual gearbox on top of being a complete piece of shit in every way. So he hoped he could somehow get Malik driving the Mondeo instead.

 

For their two year anniversary he bought a newer tractor as it was just about the most romantic thing he could think of. He didn’t know jack shit about tractors so he asked his clients around for advice and he may have used his position as the municipal veterinarian to get a good price on some used-but-still-infinitely-better-than-the-old-Massey-Ferguson-Malik-had tractor. He even managed to get a plough for it for free, or was it a cultivator? He still didn’t know much of anything about farming equipment despite Malik’s best attempts at schooling him.

 

It pained him to see Malik struggling with the old piece shit of a tractor which was constantly broken from some place and couldn’t handle anything but the tiniest equipment there were. It was one of the biggest time consumers besides the cows Malik had.

 

“You really shouldn’t have,” Malik complained when he saw the blue coloured tractor on his yard. But it was obvious the man was actually delighted from the gift.

 

“Yes I should,” Altaïr insisted and moved to kiss his boyfriend. Malik smelled of cow and felt just right in his arms. The arm in his hair then pulled them apart.

 

“I don’t want to be indebted to you,” Malik grumbled. Altaïr sighed at his boyfriend’s stubbornness.

 

“It’s a gift. You are not indebted to anyone but if it makes you any happier I’ll register it under my name,” he responded. It seemed to please Malik as he was pulled into a deep kiss.

 

Little did Altaïr know it was only the beginning.

 

***********************

 

Somehow after they had lived together for five years he had ended up buying half of the farm for himself. They sold the Ayshires except for Clover, the unfortunate cow who had brought them together the first few times. They kept her as a pet. They did then get Highland cattle which required almost no intervening on their part.

 

It was quite interesting to see the transformation in Malik now that the man actually had time to do things other than just to run around all day long. He stopped snapping randomly at Altaïr for instance. It didn’t change the fact that Malik was bull-headed and easily riled but it toned down the weird bouts of utter rage his boyfriend was prone to at times when he was just way too exhausted to function.

 

They went out more than they had when they were actually dating. They even got a proper gay dog to keep company for Stalin. The little Papillon puppy was adorable if slightly useless in farm work. Malik wanted to name it Hitler which horrified Altaïr. They ended up with a compromise and named it Napoleon which was still a dictator’s name but much, much better than Hitler.

 

Then one beautiful summer day he enlisted Stalin to help him and took Clover out of the pasture. He marched with them to the front yard where Malik was lounging on a lawn chair with Napoleon on his lap.

 

“Why are you walking Clover on the leash?” Malik asked while propping himself up to sit properly on the chair.

 

Altaïr couldn’t help but grin like an idiot as he knelt down in front of his boyfriend. Malik’s face transformed from curiosity into that of an alarm.

 

“Will you marry me?” he then asked and presented the ring which may have been slightly covered in cow drool.

 

“Is this your idea of romantic proposal, Altaïr?” Malik asked in a terrible attempt of scolding him. It was probably very hard to maintain a judgemental voice when smiling as widely as Malik did that instant.

 

“So what will it be? Do I have to feed this ring to Clover so we can feed her magnets together?” he joked.

 

“Yes. I mean no, don’t feed the ring to the cow. I will marry you,” he responded.

 

They kind of crashed together on the grass. Altaïr let go of the cow and she just wandered to eat to her hearts content. Stalin kept running around them barking at them as he did not understand why they were rolling around in there.

 

Altaïr ended up on his back with Malik straddling him. Malik kissed him slowly and deliberately. He ran his hands over Malik’s strong back muscles before settling them at the waist.

 

“I think I lost the ring,” he said as he realised he didn’t have it in his hands any longer.

 

“It doesn’t matter. I don’t have anywhere to put it anyway,” Malik replied.

 

He just pulled Malik against himself to enjoy the closeness of the other. He watched the cloud in the sky pass by.

 

****************************

 

Their wedding was a small thing. They popped into the registry office one day at an appointed time and left as a newly wed couple. It was in June and in the middle of a hay season so while Altaïr might have been technically enjoying his summer vacation they had to hurry back to reaping, raking, and baling.

 

There would be time for honeymoon after the harvest was over. Besides, both of them were horrible at romance so it was easier to just get back to work as always.

 

One day he got a call to his private phone. He didn’t immediately recognise the caller. He had to ask who he was talking to before realising it was his ex-girlfriend from vet school. The years had dulled the hatred he felt for the woman so he ended up just asking tiredly,

 

“So what is it you wanted? We haven’t spoken in almost a decade now.”

 

He sat down on a bench that was propped next to the old byre. A black and white cat appeared from somewhere, demanding access to sit in his lap.

 

“I was thinking we could meet up again,” his ex said but really it was just a veiled invitation for a date.

 

Altaïr stared at the sunset over the wheat fields colouring the sky in hues of red and violet. It was peaceful and quiet. Malik was still out gathering wild oats from the fields.

 

“No, I don’t think we can meet up. I am married these days,” he replied neutrally.

 

He could practically feel his ex-girlfriend tensing up in surprise on the other side of the line. Altaïr couldn’t blame her because he had thought he would remain eternally unmarried as it had seemed like too much commitment. But people did change.

 

“Oh! I didn’t know. So who’s the lucky girl?” she asked and Altaïr knew that as soon as he told her she would gossip everything to his parents.

 

“It’s not a girl. His name is Malik Al-Sayf,” he replied confidently. If she couldn’t deal with it she could just fuck off. He had no obligation to cater towards bigots.

 

The line went quiet for a while.

 

“I didn’t know you were gay,” she said but it didn’t sound venomous but more like puzzled.

 

“Well, I’m not. I’m bi,” he said. It had been something he had hard time coming to grips as a youth.

 

Malik appeared with a large black waste bag to the yard and looked at him questioningly. The cat that had been pestering him ran to rub himself against Malik’s legs.

 

“Look, I have to go now. It was nice talking to you,” even if it really was not.

 

He sat up from the bench and moved to take the bag from Malik. Malik threw his arm around his waist and kissed him briefly on the lips.

 

“Who was that?” Malik asked.

 

“Just a nosy ex who thought she could magically get together with me with just a phone call,” He answered truthfully.

 

“What did you tell her?” Malik asked and Altaïr could feel the arm around himself curl into a more possessive manner.

 

“I told her I was married to you,” he replied and pulled with his free arm Malik closer to himself.

 

“We still need to burn these,” Malik said and motioned with his head towards the waste bag full of wild oats.

 

****************************

 

He knew that his ex would gossip his relationship status everywhere. He had been dreading the call from his parents ever since. His relationship with his parents was cool as ever but marrying a man and buying a farm probably didn’t help to bring them any closer.

 

It took three days for his father to call him. He was surprised it even took that long knowing his ex-girlfriend’s track record in gossiping.

 

He was on call driving to a piggery at the far side of his area. Napoleon was keeping him company and the dog was sleeping on the passenger seat.

 

“Hello, father,” he answered the phone awkwardly. It had been years since the last time he spoke any words with his parents.

 

“Hello, son. Maria told me about your–”

 

“Cut the bullshit already. If you are going to berate me on my life choices then save it for someone who cares,” he snapped which stirred Napoleon from its sleep.

 

“No, no! You have understood this all wrong! I called you to congratulate you and I had hoped you would have invited us to the wedding,” his father said.

 

Altaïr’s heart skipped a beat. He pulled the car into stop at the side of the road. His father was approving his actions. He pinched himself to make sure he was not dreaming.

 

“What’s this? You’re not going to tell me how I brought shame to the family?” he argued because he didn’t know how else to respond.

 

“What is there to be ashamed of? That my son is a well-respected municipal veterinarian married to a man who did important research into bovine welfare before retiring to take care of his farm?” his father challenged. The words were spoken by his father but it was obvious the knowledge of things was his mother’s handiwork.

 

“How’s Desmond?” he managed to ask. He could hear his father sighing at the other end of the line.

 

“He’s fine. He works at the clinic as a surgeon,” his father replied.

 

“Good,” he said and meant it.

 

“Your mother misses you. We would like to visit sometime,” his father said.

 

“I’ll just take out my calendar,” he said and felt streaks of something wet run down his cheeks.

 

***************************

 

Then one Sunday afternoon his parents pulled up to the farm. His father still drove a Jaguar as always.

 

Malik had blown a fuse when he heard Altaïr had invited his parents over. It wasn’t because his husband didn’t want to meet his parents but because he was convinced everything was too dirty and otherwise horrible to show anyone.

 

It had not helped in the slightest when he had told Malik he would tell his parents to fuck off if they didn’t like what they saw. Somehow they still managed to sort themselves out and agree on things.

 

“The apple doesn’t fall very far away from the tree it would seem,” Malik commented next to him as they watched his father struggle to park the car.

 

“What do you mean?” he asked.

 

“The first time we met you drove a BMW and your father drives a Jag. Young assholes drive BMWs and older ones drive Jaguars,” Malik explained slightly mischievously.

 

“Oh?” he replied.

 

“By the way, I know you sold your BMW to buy the tractor,” Malik said. The tractor was an age old argument they kept having from time to time because even though it was needed desperately Malik’s ego didn’t let him accept any gifts. It was the reason why the old Transit was still in their yard and Altaïr couldn’t convince Malik to buy a newer one.

 

“Let’s not start this argument again, please,” he pleaded.

 

“I wasn’t going to argue about it. I mentioned it because you used to be an asshole but then you changed and stopped being one,” Malik said.

 

Altaïr pried his eyes away from the worst driving he had seen in a while to look at Malik. Malik stared back at him with intense eyes. In any other circumstance he would have jumped the man right there and then but alas his parents were there. He did pull Malik against himself and crushed their lips together with a promise of more to come later.

 

Somehow his father managed to finally park the car. The two dogs circled the car like sharks after a prey waiting for a door to open so they could start greeting the newcomers.

 

His parents then emerged from the car. They had not changed much at all since the last time had seen them. They did look very out of place in their carefully picked designer clothes in the middle of their farmyard though.

 

Malik looked like he had swallowed an iron bar. He couldn’t blame him. It was after all the first time Malik was meeting anyone’s parents and the circumstances were far from ideal.

 

His mother rushed to crush him in a hug and then she crushed Malik also. His husband looked shocked at the gesture.

 

“This is all so wonderfully rustic!” his mother announced. Altaïr facepalmed while Malik looked puzzled.

 

“Mother, it’s not rustic. It’s a farm. Farms look like this,” he said in defence of his home.

 

His father’s approach was much more conservative than his mother’s.

 

“Hello, son. Could we have a little chat?” his father asked and clearly meant he wanted a private conversation. He nodded in response and looked as his mother kept pestering Malik endlessly. At least she seemed to like his husband.

 

“Mother and I have been thinking about things lately. We asked around about your work and it seems you’ve built yourself quite the reputation as being extremely competent especially with cows,” his father said.

 

“That’s thanks to Malik. He’s amazing with animals,” he replied with fondness.

 

“Well we thought we should offer you partnership with the company,” his father concluded.

 

Altaïr stood quiet for a moment and watched Stalin and Napoleon run circles around his mother who apparently had decided to adopt Malik right there and then. His father’s offer was tempting. In fact it was very tempting as it would immediately raise their income considerably. But it also meant he would have to abandon his current clients and he would probably have to get a second apartment in the city which meant less time spent with Malik.

 

Five years ago he probably wouldn’t have even given a second thought about it but times were now different. He may not have been born in the countryside the same way Malik was but it was his home now. He owned a farm with his husband. He knew all the people in the village and in the neighbouring once as well. His next concern wasn’t whether or not he would beat the traffic but whether or not the weather was good for the crops.

 

“I decline the offer. That’s not my life. I’m a rural vet now and a farmer,” he said and it was the first time he had admitted aloud being a farmer. He used to despise farmers and now he was one.

 

His father sighed obviously disappointed.

 

“I understand. I would be lying if I said I wasn’t disappointed but it’s not my place to decide what you want to do with your life. I realise that now. I wish I had realised it sooner,” his father said.

 

“Thank you,” he said and felt a lump in his throat.

 

“At least let us buy you a wedding gift. We didn’t know what we should get for you. So just tell me what is it you need or want, so I can pretend to your mother I came up with the idea all by myself,” his father offered.

 

“A new van with an automatic gear box?” he jested because he couldn’t really think of anything they would be wanting except for more lube and condoms but those were not the kind of things to be asked from parents.

 

His father laughed at him good naturedly.

 

They then joined Malik and his mother. His mother seemed to ecstatic about everything while Malik seemed to be on the verge of mental breakdown and possibly suffering from a headache if his expression was anything to go by.

 

“Altaïr, your husband is so lovely. Why didn’t you introduce him to us earlier? He’s so well behaved and cultured too! I didn’t know peasants could be educated,” his mother chirped at him. He chose to ignore the comments about peasants and education.

 

“I thought you wouldn’t like me living with a man,” he said though a bigger part of it was something completely different.

 

“But you don’t understand! It’s so chic to have a gay son nowadays,” his mother babbled on and Altaïr didn’t doubt his mother’s words even one bit. He knew the kind of people his mother associated with and they sure as hell weren’t living in the same planet as the rest of the humanity.

 

“I’m bisexual, mother,” he tried.

 

“No, you are gay. There are no points to be had from having a bisexual son,” his mother replied and Altaïr gave up. At least he didn’t have to convince his parents to accept his way of life.

 

When his parents had finally left they collapsed in a heap on their couch. He pulled Malik against himself and rested his chin on Malik’s thick hair. He felt exhausted.

 

“Your mother is rather enthusiastic. Is she always like that?” Malik asked.

 

“Only when she likes something. She seemed to take a liking to you,” he replied.

 

“Oh joy,” Malik said. Altaïr chuckled.

 

****************************

 

A few weeks afterwards Malik called him while he was on call and sounded very agitated.

 

“There’s a huge fucking car trailer in our yard and the man driving it claims he has a delivery for us. What have you done, Altaïr?!” Malik growled.

 

“I haven’t done anything. I don’t know anything about any deliveries nor car trailers,” he defended himself.

 

“Then what I should do about this?!” Malik continued shouting.

 

“Calm down and let the man leave his delivery so he can leave. What’s the name of the delivery company? I’ll call them and try to figure this out,” he tried.

 

“I am fucking calm!” Malik argued but then told the company’s name to him.

 

He managed to end the phone call with something akin to civility. He had two hours until his shift ended and one more place to go for the day.

 

Before he could call the company his phone rang. It was his father and he started to understand what was going on even before he picked up the call.

 

The caller wasn’t his father though but his mother.

 

“Do you like the gift father and I picked for you?” his mother asked with too much enthusiasm and no understanding of the sort of catastrophe Altaïr would have to deal when he got home.

 

“I don’t even know what it is. I’m at work,” he answered exasperated.

 

“Your van is a horrible thing and not all befitting for my son and his husband so we decided to buy you a new one,” his mother explained.

 

“I hope you are able to explain that to Malik as well. He’s having a crisis at home because someone suddenly dropped a new van at our porch,” he snapped.

 

“I left a letter on the driver’s seat,” his mother replied cheerfully. It had better be the best fucking letter ever written. Altaïr could already picture months in celibacy because Malik was angry at him.

 

“Thank you mother but please do not do something like this ever again,” he sighed.

 

“You are welcome, Altaïr. I would do anything for you,” his mother replied, clearly ignoring his request to be left alone with his life. How his mother ever managed to be a successful business woman with a personality like this he would never know.

 

When his last call was finally done with and luckily it was just a few horses that needed vaccination he broke every speed limit getting back home. He hoped Malik had calmed down from the rage he had been exhibiting in the phone but the more likely scenario was his husband being even more in rage.

 

At home he found a brand new dark blue Ford Transit parked where the old one used to be. He didn’t see any sign of the old beat-up van or of his husband. A thought that Malik might have left in a fit of rage crossed his mind.

 

He parked up his car in haste and jumped out. He decided to inspect the new van and read the letter his mother had apparently left there.

 

He was surprised to find Malik sitting on the driver’s side and the two dogs on the passenger’s side. Malik was holding what had to be his mother’s letter. Malik was scowling at the letter as if it offended him for purely existing.

 

“Your parents are idiots,” Malik stated surprisingly calmly.

 

“I know,” he replied.

 

“They think they can win back your affections with money,” Malik said and handed the letter to him.

 

‘ _Dear Altaïr and Malik,_

 

_We didn’t make it to your wedding so here’s a belated wedding gift to you. We couldn’t help but notice the condition of your van when we visited so we decided we should buy you a safer and better one._

 

_You should use it to your hearts’ content. Hopefully you think about us when you drive it and we’ll feel better knowing your van is a safe one._

 

_The registration form is filled from our part and in the glove box. The gift taxes have been taken care of as well._

 

_Enjoy and visit us sometime when you come to city._

 

_With Love,_

 

 _Umar Ibn-L_ _a_ _'_ _Ahad_ _and Maud Ib_ _n-La_ _'_ _Ah_ _ad_ ’

 

The letter was just the kind of thing his parents would write. Malik also was right about the money and affections. His family just didn’t know how else to show affection than shoving gifts at the people they loved. He himself was prone to do the same.

 

“They kind of tend to do that,” he commented. They stayed silent for several minutes. Altaïr weighed all the different options he could take before deciding on one.

 

“So what should we do with it?” he asked because leaving it to Malik’s hands felt like the easiest option. If it was up to him he would accept the gift as he had wanted Malik to have a better van for ages now.

 

Malik looked at him with a smile.

 

“We’ll take it for a spin of course. It would be rude not to accept a gift,” Malik said just a little bit evilly.

 

“Who drives?” he then asked while already making his way to the passenger’s side.

 

“I will,” Malik answered.

 

*********************

 

They had been married for two years by the time an old hatchback made its way through the snowy road to their yard. Altaïr only noticed it because he was pouring coffee from the ridiculous over-priced Mochamaster his mother had sent as a Christmas gift for them.

 

He didn’t notice any difference in the coffee made with the thing since he had already gotten used to drinking coffee from coffee making machines which had such dirty pots it was hard to see through them and tar-like substance gathered at the bottom. The burnt coffee his clients served him was often accompanied by stale biscuits and, if he was super lucky, only slightly dry buns.

 

“Are we expecting someone?” he questioned as he knew Malik was in the living room reading a paperback.

 

“No,” came the reply.

 

Malik emerged from the living room with three dogs in tow, one of which was the new puppy they were still in the process of arguing the name for but was supposed to replace Stalin as the shepherd in time. His husband made it to the window and a variety of interesting emotions went through his features.

 

“It can’t be,” Malik gasped. Altaïr took a sip of his coffee and looked worried at Malik.

 

“What is it?” he asked and moved also to the window so he could see better.

 

“That’s my brother but why is he here? He’s been content to ignore me for the better part of our lives. So why does he show up now?” Malik said with a voice that was stuck between anger and bewilderment.

 

Altaïr looked at the man who had stepped out of the crummy little hatchback. He resembled Malik but was obviously quite a bit taller and was wearing clothes that were too light for the weather. It was like looking at an overgrown university student even down to the hipster glasses which probably didn’t even have anything to do with bad eyesight.

 

He realised Malik had disappeared from his side. He rinsed his coffee mug which had a picture of four-leafed clover on it and put it in the sink.

 

He heard the door open and the dogs started barking. It was safe to assume the brother was at the door.

 

“This place has really changed,” came a voice from the front door which must have belonged to Malik’s brother.

 

“Come on in. I think Altaïr has made some coffee,” Malik said.

 

Altaïr eyed at the coffee making machine which still had half a pan of coffee. He was loathe to give up his coffee.

 

“Who’s _Altaïr_?” the brother asked.

 

“He’s my husband,” Malik replied.

 

“Your what?!” the brother shouted.

 

Altaïr stared at the picture of Clover hanging on the wall pretending like he didn’t hear the conversation.

 

“Kadar, brother. I’ve been married for two years. Altaïr owns half of the farm,” Malik explained with the utmost patience. Apparently the brother’s name was Kadar.

 

“You found yourself a slave to work for you?” Kadar exclaimed.

 

“No, he’s the municipal veterinarian. We met because of work,” Malik said now clearly irritated.

 

The two brothers emerged from the kitchen door. Altaïr’s suspicions were confirmed about the brother. Kadar was taller yet less fit than Malik, was wearing clothes that were clearly dyed with organic dyes and must have cost a lot of money and looked as if he had not ever been brought up on a farm.

 

“Hello,” he greeted.

 

Kadar looked at him suspiciously.

 

“How the fuck did you end up banging my brother?” Kadar asked but it was more like an accusation. Malik looked very unhappy and was clutching Mao the cat against himself.

 

“Isn’t that a kind of strange thing to ask as the first thing when you meet someone?” he responded and only barely managed to keep at bay the feelings he was starting to harbour against the man.

 

“Why are you even here? You haven’t even so much as called after you bought that apartment in the city,” Malik interrupted them.

 

Kadar helped himself to some coffee and eyed the coffee machine for a longer time than necessary. Then the brother sat down on the table.

 

“I sold the apartment two years ago, okay? I just broke up with my girlfriend and I needed a place to bunk,” Kadar explained and made faces at the coffee.

 

“Why did you sell the apartment?” Malik asked. Altaïr already had a pretty good guess for the answer but kept his mouth shut.

 

“I was running out of money and had to do it. I invested in this game company my friend had. We were gonna make it big time with this game that was all about depression and augmented reality. I even wrote the script for it and everything,” Kadar explained. Altaïr sighed.

 

“Let me guess. It flopped,” he commented.

 

“No, it didn’t flop! It was amazing but the people just didn’t get it and it sold poorly,” Kadar defended himself.

 

“What’s your educational background?” he asked out of curiosity. He remembered Malik telling him once his brother studied some hipster subject at university.

 

“I’ve studied literature, software engineering, folkloristics, and history. What does it matter?” Kadar answered. Kadar might as well have studied just as well witchcraft because it was just about as useful as half of those subjects.

 

“Have you completed any of your studies?” he enquired more.

 

“No,” Kadar answered reluctantly.

 

He had suspected it all the years he had been together with Malik but this small conversation just confirmed it. Kadar was the rather typical case of farmers having more than one child. The oldest was given all the responsibility and told to behave according to expectations as they were expected to continue the family tradition. The younger child, if there was one, had none of the expectations but all the unconditional love and they ended up more often than not spoiled rotten.

 

A shame that in this case the actions of the younger brother had almost driven the older one into a breakdown and bankruptcy. Altaïr couldn’t help but feel contempt towards Kadar.

 

“So is my old room still up or have you turned it into a BDSM dungeon?” Kadar asked.

 

“What no? Why do you think something like that?” Malik retorted.

 

“All the gays have a BDSM room, right?” Kadar replied thinking himself very clever. Altaïr couldn’t even start to fathom the ignorance of the statement.

 

“We turned your room into a study but you can stay in the guest room,” Altaïr said before Malik would explode.

 

“Wait? Wait? This is my home. You can’t just go and change it whatever way you want,” Kadar asked with a childish whine.

 

“You haven’t been here in a decade and I bought you out when you wanted to just sell the whole place. Altaïr and I own this place, and you are just a guest in _our_ home,” Malik growled and it was clear that old hurts were starting to surface.

 

Altaïr wanted to comfort Malik but knew the man would be too high strung to accept any kind of physical contact in that state of mind. The knowledge didn’t make it any easier to watch the furious yet pained Malik trying to contain himself from strangling his own brother.

 

“Yes because this place is a dump! There’s still no future in the countryside! I always hated living here because there was nothing but cow shit and endless amounts of work to be done with no relief in sight!” Kadar shouted in response.

 

“Is that how you saw it?! Then you just decided I should suffer for it as well?! You realise if it wasn’t for Altaïr I would have probably died from exhaustion!” Malik screamed and Altaïr was shocked at the words for obvious reasons.

 

Kadar did then quiet down as he probably realised he didn’t have any rights to make demands here. Kadar was the penniless, homeless, and jobless brother who had spent all his inheritance on who knows what and was now looking for a shelter. If Malik was merciless he could just throw Kadar back into the crummy little car he had arrived in and tell him to never come back, but Altaïr knew he wasn’t like that.

 

“So where’s the guest room?” Kadar then asked in much more subdued manner than before.

 

“It’s in Malik’s old room,” he answered on behalf of Malik who seemed to be holding back tears.

 

“Thanks. I’ll get my stuff,” Kadar said and got up from the table.

 

Altaïr moved to bring Malik into a tight embrace. He ran his hands up and down Malik’s back in a comforting manner.

 

“You know you can throw him out if you want,” he mumbled into Malik’s shoulder.

 

“No. I want to be better than him. I don’t want to leave my last living blood relative in trouble the way he did to me,” Malik answered with a wavering voice.

 

“But the least he should do is to take part in the work around here,” he said softly.

 

“I agree,” Malik said and pressed against him even tighter.

 

****************************

 

Kadar wasn’t a bad person but lacked any kind of common sense which was probably due to years and years spent on living without concern for money and associating with other such people. The younger brother didn’t like the farm work at all but did them when it was made clear to him he was going to be thrown out of the house otherwise.

 

It was odd for Altaïr to find himself looking at someone and thinking how urbanised the other was. Even weirder it was to know that the person was Malik’s brother who had supposedly grown up on the farm.

 

Kadar stayed for the winter and left in late spring. The brother claimed he had gotten a job at the city but Altaïr suspected Kadar was just going to stay with his hipster friends at some beach or park while smoking pot and drinking booze. He didn’t care all that much and it seemed Malik didn’t care that much either.

 

Old wounds died hard.

 

**********************

 

As years passed on and animals came and went as was the unfortunate course of life a few things stayed constant. Apparently they were doomed to drive Fords for the rest of their lives, Malik whinged about everything, farmers couldn’t make proper coffee yet he still drank it, and he was hopelessly in love with his husband.

 

“Your mother called me this morning,” Malik said from the comfortable position in at Altaïr’s side.

 

Altaïr had his arm thrown over Malik’s shoulder and their hands were linked together. They were lounging lazily on their porch basking in the sun after a hard day of making hay. He liked how Malik’s body settled familiarly against his own. It felt like they were meant to fit together being just the right size for each other.

 

“So what did she want?” he asked lazily not really feeling up to conversation.

 

“She congratulated us on our anniversary. Told me there was yet another gift in the post for us. And casually demanded for us to come and visit them in the city,” Malik explained. Altaïr groaned.

 

“Why does she care so much about our anniversary?” he asked.

 

“You tell me. She’s your mother. I’m only the poor in-law who’s caught in this,” Malik answered and shifted slightly.

 

“But you speak more with her than I do. It’s like you are the son and I’m the poor in-law,” he deflected. Malik snorted.

 

“I think it has more to do with the bragging rights she has with her friends than anything else,” Malik said amusedly.

 

“You realise most people would be ecstatic to have in-laws like the ones you have?” he asked.

 

“Yes, but I am not most people,” Malik replied.

 

“That’s true. It’s also true that my only in-law is a man who is probably a pot smoker living in a hippie commune,” he jested. Malik burst into laughter at his bad joke. What wouldn’t he do to hear more of that sound?

 

“Come on here,” Malik said and pulled him from the front of his shirt into a kiss.

 

Altaïr wrapped his arms around Malik’s waist and Malik threw his arm over his shoulder. The sun warmed his back. Malik smelled of shampoo and cow, and tasted of raspberries.

 

He wished he could freeze the moment for eternity. It was everything he had never thought he would want from life. Never in his life he had thought he would be satisfied to just listen to the wheat stalks swishing gently in the wind. To be just content at the simple things in life.

 

Whenever they visited his parents at the city he looked at his brother and his parents with something akin to wonder when his relatives charged around as if time was running out. His father would show him his new Jag and his mother would attempt to show her affections by giving them gifts. It was always when he stopped to think how much he did not miss that life as it felt so alien to him now.

 

Somehow happiness could be found in the form of the most grumpiest man alive. It was found everyday when he woke up and fell asleep next to Malik. He was happy to argue about their groceries and about whatever mundane thing riled Malik up.

 

“Please. Never change. I love you,” he managed in between their ever more passionate kisses.

 

To think that it all started with an unlucky cow called Clover.

 


End file.
